Within Ourselves
by xReaderx
Summary: In this world of technicolor and broken snow globes lives a Picasso family. SylarxClaire. AU. Oneshot.


In this world of technicolor and broken snow globes lives a Picasso family.

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Claire's favorite color had always been red. She would never have admitted it was simply because it made her feel like a sex goddess every time she wore it, nor that as a lipstick, it accentuated the pout of her lips to perfection.

She wouldn't have told you so because that would be vain. Claire wasn't vain.

_He_ was.

Sylar's favorite color was black. He wouldn't have confessed it was merely because it allowed him to hide from the sin of the world—his own wrongdoings—nor that before the morning sun rose to shine its brilliant hues, it gave him some comfort in the night.

He wouldn't have said so because that would be cowardice. Sylar wasn't a coward.

_She _was.

Gabriel's favorite color didn't exist. It was more of a feeling inside, a burning, an ache.

To belong. To find solace.

Or maybe just to stand so far above everyone else, they would wish they had let him in.

When Peter glued the shards of the planet back together, there wasn't any black left.

Only golds and blues and pinks and greens.

And Gabriel—his desire to be.

And Claire—all of her ruby colored horror.

Sylar faded with the dark. There wasn't anymore night. Gabriel felt no mitigation of misery because there was no where left to run. Nowhere left to hide.

Except under her blood red sky.

---

Who knew that one could find such satisfaction in simple living?

Gabriel definitely didn't think so until he had the experience with Claire Bennett.

Where was their little white house anyway? Nebraska? Montana? Zimbabwe?

He wasn't sure; all he knew was that amber waves surrounded his island for miles upon miles, where they stopped short upon the base of indigo mountains. They didn't need money; they grew their own food; he directed water to the pipes when necessary, and they constantly had farm animals to care for; he killed them when he was craving meat because she still didn't quite have the stomach for it.

Maybe there were no white sandy beaches, but it was his own paradise.

Perhaps it wasn't the place so much as the girl.

They awoke early before the sun had a chance to challenge their bleary eyes, and they worked on whatever needed tending during the day. They had their fun—writing their own stories, crafting figurines from wood chippings, painting worlds and futures that didn't exist…

Then the bright night allowed him to satiate his thirst to devour her skin.

She could always anticipate when the evenings would be long by the way he watched her swinging hips beneath those devilish eyebrows as he took a sip of lemonade. Sometimes, she would tease him. She'd walk around in _only _an apron…or she'd lean across his plate making sure he had a full view down her shirt. She wondered what would possess her in those instances, but she didn't dwell on it long, particularly when his urges overcame him, and she was suddenly thrown flat against the kitchen table.

Neither could describe their fatal attraction, or their lack of desire to share it with the rest of the world. It was their reason for isolation and their lack of inhibitions. There was nothing to hide between the two of them, and it would have been futile to begin with. They knew one another down to the last square inch.

She knew what made him smile like Gabriel and not like Sylar.

He knew what made her laugh uncontrollably until her sides would have been sore.

She knew what made him lose his breath as their skin melted together as one.

He knew what made her writhe with lust in her enticing eyes.

She knew how to make him wallow in regret if it was deemed inevitable.

He knew how to avoid the holes in her heart after they'd developed over the years.

To illuminate these facts by rejoining the rest of society, they would lose any sort of suitable foundation.

It was difficult enough since it was already crumbling.

Claire had forgiven him. Not for his crimes but for the fact that he wasn't able to control the hungry beast inside. She understood that; no one could exactly figure out their ability in a day. She hadn't.

She couldn't forget, though, the debt he still had to her for denying her life to exist as a whole, unbroken piece.

He was aware of this, and he claimed in their numerous fights that the fate of her family and friends mattered little to nothing to him and that she could walk out right now if she really hated it so much; she could waltz her way back to Papa Bennett and explain how she had run off with a psychopathic serial killer because she was afraid of being alone for all of eternity, and he'll be damned if he gave a flying hoot.

It was times like these when Gabriel was grateful that the only ability Claire had was to heal rather than be a human lie detector or mind reader or mood manipulator.

Because he would have been caught red-handed.

He was lying; he cared a whole lot more than he'd like; he felt terribly guilty for shattering her normalcy.

It wasn't like that at first. He would have actually rid himself of her if it were possible.

But, she grew on him, in him—like an infection, like a virus. She spread to every blood vessel and cell, breaking them down and regenerating new ones that reeked of her smile, her feeling. It made him physically ill to ponder his ever present need to keep her within arm's length. He wanted to hurl from considering that she might suddenly disappear.

Just like the black. Maybe red would join it.

However, despite their blinding addiction, there was still an ocean's depth of unsorted issues that she refused to talk about, and he didn't press. The only times those unspoken words manifested themselves were as parasites, sucking away at any life the pair had left in them.

He would usually say something wrong. Her entire body would tense, jaw clenched.

He'd want to apologize, but his vanity wouldn't let him.

She'd ask him to repeat whatever forbidden words he had spoken. He would with disdainful pride.

Tears would form in her clouded eyes, and the shrieking would begin.

He would defend himself, even if he was wrong. He didn't deserve this; he could just leave, too; she could go to hell.

She would hit him. He'd angrily throw the closest object at the wall behind her, scraping the wallpaper.

Sometimes that object was a pan. Sometimes a plate or even a book.

One time it was a snow globe.

Both would fall silent after this. She'd walk briskly upstairs and slam the bathroom door. He'd stomp outside and yell angrily for no one to hear.

Often, they wouldn't see each other for days. She didn't know where he went, and the pit of worry formed after the fury subsided. He always knew she was at the house, waiting for his return. If he was feeling extra vindictive, he'd make her sweat. However, that usually wasn't the case.

He'd come into their bedroom as she was preparing for bed. They would gaze at one another silently for several minutes as the candles flickered in the shadows. Finally, she would breathe, and that was enough for him to throw her down in furious lovemaking.

They couldn't ignore the blatantly obvious: neither could return to whatever world existed outside their own.

It wasn't too dangerous or sorrowful. It wasn't even fear that drove them to stay.

It was the black and red poles of the magnet, pulling them without restraint towards each other. As long as the other existed, the world was just a bunch of blurred images shoved awkwardly together that they could only see through the window of a speeding car.

Claire wondered if it was worth it.

---

Gabriel learned what his favorite color was.

No, it wasn't red. That color belonged to her heart only.

It was the lightest shade of green; the color of her eyes…

It was the one thing about her that changed as constantly as her moods, indicating her impatience, her infatuation, her obliviousness, her pleasure.

All the little colors that made her.

They didn't match; they didn't even look right together.

But, it was as much an artwork as anything he'd ever seen.

---

Black returned when Peter died.

Red faded away.

Green dissolved.

Claire ran; Sylar chased.

He was vain; she was a coward.

Their world of technicolor and broken snow globes lay forgotten.

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**Author's junk: No idea what that was, but thank you for reading! I guess it's just some sort of world I created for them...I don't know. I was trying to focus on imagery from a different perspective...like colors are emotions and emotions are colors vs. the imagery where you see the action as though it's happening in front of you. I wanted these colors to kind of tell a story. I know-weird. But, I'd like to know if I achieved, failed, or if you think I'm just crazy. **

_Disclaimer: I don't own Heroes. And there are a couple of lines I used in this that are actually lines of songs. I don't know how many there are, so if it sounds like a song, it probably is. I don't own them. _

**Oh yeah. I only read through this like twice after I wrote it, so there's hardly any editing. At all. So I might just delete it later. **

**Feedback is appreciated though =]**

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